Always Fighting
by jesusfreak100percent
Summary: Remus one-shot. My view on being a werewolf - why is Remus always tired? Why does he hate his wolf side so much? It's not all glamour - sometimes it's dirty, horrible darkness.


**Just a little Remus one-shot. My view on being a werewolf – why is he always tired? Of course, there's the fact he is a ravaging wolf once a month, but maybe there's another explanation. It can be set anytime, but before Voldie's first fall maes much sense.**

Always fighting

He paces the room, angry and angry at the same time, which is always dangerous. He can never be angry – because his other side is always there, always fighting, waiting to break free through his anger-induced thoughtlessness. Panic is bad too, as is laziness. Anything really. He's fighting, all the time. Fighting with himself.

The first time he fought properly was a few hours after. He had awoken in a hospital room, and his parents were there. It had all been fuzzy, and he could _feel_ someone else, someone in his head – him but not him. It wanted to get out, to hunt and play and run. It was so very strong, he almost let it.

Then he heard his mother. She was calling his name. And _it_ wasn't answering. He was growling, snarling, fighting to get out, to tear her apart. He never said it, but he could feel him, wanting it, longing for it. He could taste blood and meat and bones tearing beneath his teeth. He could imagine his mother's screams.

And the new half liked it. He loved it so much. He danced in it. He was going to let his new half free – the adrenaline and excitement, mixed with the longing for darkness and to let go, both pulled at him, willing him to fall asleep and allow the new one, the young but dark one, out. He would have too, but then he saw his mother's face.

She was crying, crying very hard, but she brushed the tears away impatiently, waiting for him to answer her.

"Remus?"

He blinked sluggishly.

"Remus!"

Remus jerked awake. Or well, he jerked out of the haze of a memory he'd been experiencing. He was waiting outside a hospital room, with some of his worried friends. His mother was inside.

* * *

That day – the day he'd been bitten – it had been her who had saved his life. Werewolves are often killed by the Ministry – any aggressive move a werewolf, even a seven year old who doesn't understand what he's doing, makes, is considered bad enough to warrant the death penalty. And he would have attacked – he _knows_ he would have attacked. But looking at his mother, crying but yet so hopeful, so hopeful and hating herself for hoping, he knew he had to fight. He didn't even know what he was fighting first, so he grabbed his mother's hand and just fought to stay awake. He felt an urge to hit something, but restrained it – luckily for him, and for the table next to him, which was the most likely target.

His mother – and his father – had been his lifeline after that. They had helped his grow up with his curse. His father helped less out of love and more out of guilt. He had been creating anti-werewolf campaigns when Remus had been bitten, and although of course he'd stopped, the feelings he'd had hadn't changed. Remus knew this, his dad knew this, but it became one of those things you never talked about. Just like it was his father who had angered Greyback enough to send him after his son. That was another thing that had to remain in the shadows, never spoken aloud but known by all.

His mother, however, she loved him. She cuddled him and kissed him, even after he'd just come out of his full moon blackouts and was lying bloody and naked on the floor. He knew he must look terrifying, but his mother never found him scary enough. He always remained her little boy.

And now she was gone. And it was all his fault.

It was this stupid war. He was tired all the time. Always fighting, never winning. It wasn't a battle to win, he knew, just a battle to maintain. If he ever quit, or lost, or surrendered, that was the day he became Greyback.

People often commented on how tired he was, or how kind – too kind – or how tired he looked, or his shabby clothing.

All consequences of fighting with yourself day and night. At least his self-restraint had improved.

That first night, in the hospital, he knew he'd had to fight against something. First it had been a battle to stay awake, and not to let the monster take over. Slowly, he'd gained ground – he was fighting the monster now, and rarely felt any of it's primal instincts anymore – except in survival situations, something he couldn't help but feel thankful for.

But he could never leave his guard down. Any one time he relaxed and decided to rest for _just a minute_, that could be the moment the wolf would strike. Worst scenario, it could take over his mind. But there were other terrible ideas that Remus knew could easily become reality.

He could accidentally put a bit too much power when holding a child, or hugging a friend, or even shaking someone's hand. A tiny bit too much pressure, and he could be responsible for their death or injury.

That's what had happened here. He closes his eyes and wishes he had gone into shock when it happened, so the memory would be blurry. But it isn't. It's clearer than ever – like glass, or a pool of cold water, reflecting the liquid's bottom.

* * *

It had been a raid, led under Greyback's orders. An anti-human clan that was very much on Greyback's side, and very much against any other side. That included the one he was on.

He'd been at Grimmauld Place, when the floo had activated.

"REMUS!" came a scream. He leapt to his feet in an instant, and saw through the floo his mother's terrified face. It disappeared quickly, and he jumped after it into the flames.

His mother was using her wand to fight away all the many people/wolves surrounding her living room. These were the type of werewolves who had never fought that primal instinct in them to hurt and kill, and had become part wolf because of it.

Remus had his wand out in an instant and, right after sending an emergency Patronus to everyone he knew who could help (that was the actual instruction, he supposed it wasn't very well thought out) was helping his mother fight, when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a werewolf leap from behind at his mother. His wand, aimed in the opposite direction and spelling so fast it was almost doing it on it's own, was in no position to reach her on time, not without leaving him open to every other wolf in the room.

So, instead, he did the stupidest thing he'd ever done. He let go.

It was just for a second, and it was what helped him across the room. He knew his wolf in him had a primal urge to fight these wolves and defend his mom – even if it was just so he could defend his own meal. So he let him out, and within an instant, was pushing her to the ground and standing over her, actually growling, like a dog.

He quickly pulled the wolf back in – it was harder than he thought, but panic and fear was helping him now, thinking '_Oh-no-what-have-I-done-what-have-I-done-what-have-I-done?__'_ over and over.

That was when help arrived. Very quickly, the wolves were gone, as if they had disappeared on the spot. They probably had. Even werewolves can Apparate.

He was left standing over an unconscious woman, the woman who had been the only reason he was still alive that day, the woman who had called to him for help, and now, the woman who lay still and unmoving beneath his feet. Too still, much too still.

He would never forgive himself and he would never, ever stop fighting.

**So... depressing? Good? Did you even get it? I like writing kind of... fuzzily, but I'm always worried I'll go too over the top... Was it canon? I can't remember if Remus said he was 6 or 7 when he was bitten, so I went for 7 :) Also, it was 11pm when I wrote this on a school night. And it's unbetaed... so yeah. I'll check it over later, but now I will sleep.**

**Please review - even just if you think it was bad, I don't mind being criticised.**


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